Gently, I pick up a bus ticket from the floor, and fold it into a heart.
6:25p.m. Bus.75 always arrives at this juncture.
My Stop is ten stops away from Her Stop. To begin with, the time was just enough for me to fold a heart with the ticket. Now, I am getting the hang of it and can finish the heart within a few stops.
That's just fine----enough time left for me to rehearse what I'm going to say to her, or to think of a good place to eat.
She doesn't like making decisions, yet also dislikes my indecisiveness.
While I'm thinking like this, the bus stops at Her Stop.
She's never late, always standing under that lamppost beside the busstop, waiting.
Her white pullover is tinted milkish-yellow under the light shining from the road lamp. What grace!
She wants to walk in the sea wind, but cannot stand the coldness, so she wears the pullover every time. It's delightfully soft.
On the bus, she leans against me, head on my shoulder, confiding in me all the pressure and headache from work.
"Why not just quit it? Save time, less trouble." I always ask her.
I'm like this, trying to comfort her every time, then holding out the folded heart and sent it to her.
She's always saying that she likes the job too much, just like her liking the heart I sent her.
Dinners always proceed in peace; after the meal, we always hold our unfinished drinks, walking on the beach.
We expose our hearts to the sea.
Our feelings are witnessed by the sea waves; and the sea wind is forever refreshing.
Though we loathe parting, we always sort out our emotions carefully, just before the arrival of the last bus.
I accompany her home. It's five stops away.
My heart is unfinished----send her next time.
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Bus.75 is arriving. But it's just 6:20p.m.
I take out my Ezlink Card, yet accidentally, an unfolded ticket drop out of my wallet and fall onto the floor. I only notice it when I unintentionally step on it...
Still waiting for the bus driver to issue a ticket as usual when it suddenly dawned on me that now we all use Ezlink Card. No more tickets.
I sit there, glancing at the the unlit lampposts passing through the window, bored.
No more ticket. No more comfortable.
I pick up a ticket from the floor and fold it into a heart.
I lift my hand and hold it out of the window...then I open my palm.
Originated from B.N.
First published in Hwa Rhythm 22nd, 1997.
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